


No Thimbles

by rhythmickorbit



Series: Transtalia Week- April 2019 [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crossover, Gen, Gosh diddly darn why do I make short things that I want to expand, Grishaverse, HEARTRENDER, Implied Dysphoria, Implied Relationships, Not Really?, Oneshot, Platonic Relationships, This was really fun though., Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans!Hungary, fabrikator, for a writing prompt, grisha - Freeform, grishaverse au, implied characters, just hetalia characters in the grishaverse, more story to come??, sort of a crossover, tidemaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 09:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18340760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmickorbit/pseuds/rhythmickorbit
Summary: Elizaveta is a Grisha far, far away from home. With outside discrimination and inward securities gnawing at her, it is a miracle that she's survived all by herself.It's no miracle- Elizaveta isn't alone.





	No Thimbles

                Elizaveta was no Tailor. This became painfully obvious every morning, as she haphazardly tried to soften her jawline, to make her hips curve downward just the smallest bit more. As a Heartrender, she had almost complete power over human biology—she could suffocate, eviscerate, maim—all without lifting a finger.

                The one aspect of her power that she had next to no control over, however, was Tailoring. Elizaveta was not one of those who was trained to artfully change another’s appearance—their eye color, the planes of their face, whether they had freckles or not. She could kill, yes. That, however, was brutality—the twisting of cells and the constricting of veins. It was brutality compared to the delicacy of Tailoring, or even Healing. What did that matter, though, when she had but a minutia of control over how she appeared to other people? Elizaveta stared at herself in the mirror, that old, familiar pain gnawing at her as she mentally critiqued her work.

                Oh, how she wished that she could master such an art, if only to change herself. To make the bones in her hands shift, to make them delicate and nimble. To make her shoulders less broad. Her mouth twisted in frustration as she turned away from the mirror.

She hated how Ravka’s military had such a hunger for Heartrenders. Suppressed anger ripped the inside of her gut whenever she heard the name of the kingdom. It was a pair of jaws, sets of teeth patterned row after row as it nipped at her conviction. She clenched her fists as she thought of the place, the people that forced her to be a killer instead of an artisan.

Elizaveta, although it was mainly for her own, personal reasons, wanted to be a Tailor with all of her heart. She wanted to change her appearance, true, but also help the others in situations likened to hers in so many aspects. Although it hurt to experience such inward hatred, it ached even more to know that others experienced the same pain.

Elizaveta left the Ravkan military in disgrace, although even that may have been an overstatement. She left without warning, without one word to her superiors. She would never be able to return to her home country, although she missed her family dearly. Elizaveta could only look ahead.

                Elizaveta, fully expecting to die alone in the world, had become acquainted with others like her-- people escaping harsh life, Grisha trying to eke out a life in the otherwise steadfast lands beyond Ravka. This path, deadly to one Grisha was easily tamed by three. Elizaveta gained friends along her travels—Roderich, a Tidemaker, and Gilbert, the Fabrikator. Together, they forged onward with only rumors to keep their hope glowing in the bleak lot that life dealt them.

Rumors of a Master Tailor, comparable to those in Ravka. A Tailor that could change the very bones of a person’s body without consequence. The very thought of such skill made Elizaveta hungry to learn from them. Hungry enough to risk the landscape of Kerch, where Grisha languished under unfair indentures and swallowed up young women who wandered the streets alone. Yes, it was within these twisted catacombs where Elizaveta would find the Tailor—and implore them to teach her their craft, that which she had been denied back in Ravka.

She remembered the other option. _Jurda parem._ The drug that could amplify a Grisha’s powers to the degree of godhood—a Tidemaker could break themselves down into water particles. A Squaller would be able to fly. And a Coporalnik like Elizaveta would be able to change the fundamental biology of the human body.

It was so tempting that it _hurt._

Elizaveta had heard talk of the price, however. Addiction for life, languishing in the lack of power. Although she had never been able to use it precisely how she liked, that was better than never being able to use it again.

She sat on the single bed across from the dingy mirror, and made an effort not to look at her reflection again. It had already been thirty minutes since she had tried to Tailor herself, and extended amounts of time spent dwelling over it never boded well for anyone. Especially Elizaveta herself.

The doorknob turned, and Roderich stepped into the room, impeccably dressed as always.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked Elizaveta, taking in the unpacked objects scattered around the room.

(Half of it was Gilbert’s mess. Neither he nor Elizaveta had ever been able to match Roderich’s weirdly organized lifestyle.)

 _Shit._ Despite evidence to the contrary, Elizaveta nodded in reply. “Yes, just give me a second to... pack my things.” She moved about the room in a frenzy, searching for her meager possessions in the fray. Roderich looked on in amusement.

“I travel with two packrats,” he sighed dramatically. Elizaveta threw a sock—probably one of Gilbert’s-- at Roderich’s face. The Tidemaker sputtered and batted it away like a cat trying to defend itself from water.

“You demon!” Violet eyes glowered at Elizaveta. “I’m certain that Gilbert has a foot fungus or something. You’ve spread it to me.”

Elizaveta shoved the last object into her bag. “We’ve been travelling for six months. If he actually had a disease, it most certainly would have travelled to you by now.”

Roderich held out his arm in courtesy once Elizaveta met him at the doorway. She elbowed him in return and he rolled his eyes in defeat. “Nonsense, Elizaveta. My cleanliness is impeccable.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of a ramble than anything, but I figured that I would post it anyway! The transtalia week prompt for today was "TV show/movie/book crossover". I obviously decided to use the Grishaverse, created by Legh Bardugo. (This is my favorite series lol).
> 
> I apologize if this sounded preachy. I'm a full believer in the power of friendship. All stories should explore this because it is important. 
> 
> Anyway. Now I just need to post day 3 and I'm all caught up! Hope you guys enjoyed even if it was a bit hard to follow. (Now I'll get my ass in gear to studying.... andworkingonAxesCrossedlmao)


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